Fire & Fallacy

[Damnit_Delmar 1177]

Spoiler

Art Credit - Pinterest

*The entirety of these events are not public knowledge, unless there or told, do not meta this knowledge*

𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 & 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖞

“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.” ― Blaise Pascal, Pensées

 

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The day was sunny, peaceful even, the Merchant of Murkwater having gone to the capital of Urguan with many of his so-called ilk and companions. His items, which he had recently re-acquired, were firmly hanging from the belt. His grandfather's cane of old Crackadonk bone used to guide him toward the city's entrance. It was all so cheery and so merry, why he even had time to converse with the Grand King of Urguan. Time to speak and spark trade, time to create contacts, and time to gain….

 

"Pharamir Delmar, come with us peacefully. You are under arrest for suspicion of being aligned with the Necrotic." The Delmar would stop, his mind and heart racing as he found himself soon surrounded by various Templars and Paladins. His hand was clasped tightly by the famed Dragonslayer, unable to escape from such.

 

 "Necrotic? Now I know my kin have not had the kindest of reputations. However, this is surely something you are overreacting about?" Just like he had done countless times before, yet this time, his silver tongue was not proving to be of help. Instead, they would continue with each one growing closer and another wary brow shown. Yet the lies did flow, criticisms given back, and comments about departure made. Yet despite that, the minor inconsistencies were not enough. 

 

“Weh shal du an interrgatoh upun dis Darkspawn.” No matter the lie or excuse, he was dragged forward to the long dark pit. All he could do was curse himself and his lack of preparation and foresight, despite his many gifts for such. Yet, surely they would not kill him; at best, he could lie. Perhaps not about being pure of soul, but certainly, about others, contacts he could gather. Anything to let him escape the dreary and dark prison. Yet, it mattered not; he was placed inside the dark pit. His golden gaze shifted about the area, waiting for whatever interrogation to begin. 

 

Click, Click, Click… 

 

The sound of gears shifting and whirring cogs could be heard, the Mali'dun looking about the place as he watched the pit slowly open. Shock first embraced him before fear began to ball in his stomach. The man frantically pushed himself towards the walls, attempting to find leverage, anything to aid his survival. Yet, nothing lay about the area. Instead, he felt himself falling into the pit of flames. The fire licking at his silk-garbed form was such a beautiful thing, and yet such a shame it had to burn away. Soon his body lighting, the various oils and dyes, and even the charcoal he used to maintain the dark coloration in his hair. All of it lit ablaze, his skin bursting and burning as a horrid scream of agony erupted from his charred vocals. The flames only allowed such suffering to show for seconds before his withered frame was brought to fall. His burnt and withered hand was raised in pleading agony—something to cause that terrible,  horrid pain to stop. 

 

Soon his prayer was answered, pain giving away to darkness, and darkness revealing a hellish fall...

 

Pharamir Delmar

SA 104 - 136

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*These events are not known public knowledge*

Spoiler

A Confined Time in Crimson Realms

 

His charred body was in constant and endless freefall, crimson clouds falling past as arcs of red lightning shot forth around the Harrenite. He had entered the worst part of the Ebretian, and he would remain here until he was brought back. Forced for a time of agony and torture, forced to relive the sins he had suffered and committed. Hours would become months, days turning to years, and weeks becoming decades. The world of the material, always moving slower than the wretched wastes of the Heith-Hedran.

 

So it began, to pass the time, to avoid thinking of the burning pain that thrummed through his ashen husk of a body. 

 

“One, two, three, four, five, six…” So a series of numbers began, a series of counting and adding up the time.

 

“547, 548, 549, 550, 551, 552…..”A routine and habit that would act as a thin rope for maintaining sanity. 

 

“2001,2002,2003,2004,2005,2006……”While his body and soul would remain damned to return in full, his mind would not. Instead he would be reborn anew, a changed mindset and different strategy soon to be made. 

 

[Shiredom 1561]

The vase, ever important, remains closed and sealed with twine. It is likely that it will never be opened, atleast through conventional means. Someone can accidently drop it and spill it's contents to the floor. It's a shame with the reasons why the vase was acquired, but it's a good thing to have, to keep safe. It rests in the safe protection of a Silver (or just Silver) Quilled man, who is regretful but also angered at individuals who caused the vase to be created.